A/Ns: Oh my gosh, guys, I'm sorry for the delay! The movie turned into movie and a dinner, then movie and a dinner and board games when we get home!? And guys, you can not turn my dad down when he wants to play a board game. Dude's eyes light up like a puppy at Christmas (which makes no sense, I'm aware…) But For Real. The eye game is stronger than Sam Winchester's. It's ridiculous. (Even more ridiculous that I did not inherit that skill *grumble grumble damnit grumble*)

So…two hour board game later aaaand here we are! Also, I'm a little tipsy. I'm a couple of ciders, a couple of eggnogs, and not nearly enough waters later…Oh, and I still have to go paint a painting for my sister, which I promised as her Christmas present (I'm…not late on that at all…) Friends (and totally sober family members) shouldn't let friends paint drunk, guys!

But friends totally let friends post fanfiction drunk. That…that is an *excellent* idea.

Speaking of…Quality Warning! This is probably unnecessary cuz I edited this a couple days ago but…author is tipsy and still posting! So…yup, let's just leave a good ole fashioned warning for that right here.

Chapter Warnings: Dontcha also think it's been faaaaar too long since our last proper no-good, dirty rotten, back-to-back cliffhanger? I most certainly do ;)

(You were warned…I did warn you, right? I remembered to do that? Pretty sure I did.)

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 57

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Dean closed the door to the Impala, staring at the darkened gas station. It had closed up for the night, the overhead lights off, the attached store dark, and the lot around him mostly abandoned. There were a couple of cars on the edges of the asphalt block that made up the parking lot, but they were equally dark and unoccupied. The gas station shared the lot with a mechanic's place, so Dean wasn't really worried about those.

He'd driven out of the town of Lafayette, about twenty miles to the southwest, before finding this gas station on the outskirts. There was no point driving any further out; any angel to answer his prayer would know that if Sam Winchester was with his older brother, he was going to be somewhere in the town of Lafayette. There wasn't another city equal in size close enough to really mislead them. Dean had driven far enough from the motel his brother was still sleeping in to not call suspicion to it, but not far enough away to make it obvious he was trying to hide the location, either.

It was an interestingly wriggly, winding, thin line to toe, but one Dean was familiar with. Cas had once told him the trick to finding someone who was warded was to look for what wasn't there rather than what was. Like an empty motel room where all other rooms were full. Which meant, in this case, making sure Dean put himself in a spot where there were enough actual empty rooms around – enough negative space in all the white space that was the population of Lafayette – that no one gap of nothingness called attention to itself.

Not that Dean was particularly worried. Lafayette was a decent sized town but it wasn't particularly busy on a mid-week, early December night. Which meant there were plenty of half-filled motels. All he'd had to do was a pick a direction and drive far enough away to put a couple dozen of those empty rooms between him and the actually-occupied room Sam was in.

Not that it should matter because, again, this wasn't even going to work. (And also he was supposed to be summoning an angel that should be friendly. Just so long as 'friendly' was a term used loosely.)

He'd actually driven further out of town than originally planned. Dean hadn't meant to make the outskirts, but there he was, standing beneath the last roof between Lafayette and nothing but farmland for miles and miles. The hunter had been forced to driver longer than he'd wanted to because Sam had friggin' followed him (because of course he had, Dean had known the kid wouldn't let him do this alone, despite what they'd agreed to. Especially since he'd only sort of kept his half of that agreement.) Dean had spotted the stolen car a couple miles out of the motel and decided to at least let Sammy know he'd been spotted. That way when the kid pulled up to wherever Dean decided to stop, he'd have to own up to following his brother against his word (and Dean could totally pull higher ground and ignore that whole 'told you through a note…while you were asleep…in the middle of the night…' bit…. Yeah. Total higher ground, there. He hadn't actually broken his promise. Just. Uh. Bent it. Yup.)

Losing Sam (which wasn't gonna happen, but Dean could at least try) meant the hunter had to drive further out of town than he'd wanted on quite the crisscross of roads, making a couple 'accidental' rights along the way. Surprisingly, the car turned off his trail and onto a side road after the first suspicious follow. Dean kept waiting for it to re-appear – his brother trying some clever trick to re-pick up the hunt – but it hadn't shown up again.

So not Sam, after all. Or Sam, but he decided to give up and turn back once he realized he'd been spotted. (So…not Sam, then.)

Of course, it could have been a coincidence. Dean was driving major roads in a city with a decent population and car count. He'd only spotted the car for a couple minutes and two turns before he'd started trying to lose them. So it could have just been the perfect line up of a normal Lafayette civilian taking the same route home after a late shift or early night. That did happen, on occasion. Somehow, though, Dean doubted it. His luck was never that lucky.

The hunter kept an eye out for the same car – or any other – but didn't spot anyone else suspicious right up to his discovery of the last gas station out of town.

Dean cast one more cursory look around the darkened structure and empty lot, double checking he was alone. Then, reminding himself of how stupid an idea this was (so, so stupid), he closed his eyes, shoved his hands into his pockets, and began to pray.

'Okay, here goes.'

The hunter took a deep breath, already feeling ridiculous. He'd never really gotten the hang of doing this, even when it had been to Cas. It always made him feel both stupid and awkward as all get out. And this definitely wasn't Cas he was planning on talking to.

'Dear Balthazar, you winged di- Angel…of…the Lord.'

Dean winced. Right. The asshole was never gonna answer if Dean forgot they didn't know each other in this timeline. At least in his, Balthazar gave as good as he got, but that was because the two of them had a mutual appreciation of hating each other. And good one-liners. Possibly the only reason they could stand each other long enough to actually get along.

'My name is Dean Winchester, I'm a friend of Cas's- Castiel's, and I need your help. Cas needs your help. He's stuck up in Heaven and I think he's in trouble. So…come on down here.'

Okay, that was better. Halfway decent, he supposed. Real civil.

Green eyes slid back open, quickly glancing left and right, even though Dean knew it would take an angel longer to appear than that. Balthazar would have to get out of a Heaven that was supposedly sealed up, find a vessel, and get to him.

Oh. Right.

'And get a vessel. I like my eyes not burned out of my skull, thank you very much.'

Okay. Slightly less civil. Not like Balthazar would be civil when he got there either, though. If he got there. Dean sighed, hands still in his pocket in the chilly air, and leaned back against Baby's side. He was probably in for one hell of a wait.

-o-o-o-

A thousand miles away, in a New York City penthouse suite of a sixty-five story skyscraper overlooking Central Park, a tall, lean man paused against the edge of his Italian marble bar, halfway through pouring himself a very fine beverage. His blond head tilted to the side, as if listening to something. Not that a human would be able to hear anything over the pulsating beat of the live DJ, the lights overhead flashing in a disco strobe effect, bodies thrashing and writhing together on the dance floor that made up two whole thirds of the room.

Then again, Balthazar was hardly the human he appeared to be.

The angel had paused mid-pour of his incredibly expensive and positively lavish Old Fashion. It was an Old Rip Van Winkle bourbon in his hand, aged twenty-five years in special barrels reserved from Kentucky's finest. He'd picked it up from a collector whose over-the-top security system had neglected to include angelic warding.

Honestly, Balthazar didn't even care much for the taste of human alcohol, but oh, the opulence of it all was the real indulgence.

Now he hesitated, tipping the bottle back to stop his pour, staring into the world well beyond the mirrored back of the bar, reflecting the bright lights and pulsating crowd. His human guests - featuring a who's who of the city's top socialites – danced and drank and lived on, mindless of their host's preoccupation. He doubted any of the people in this room would believe he was one to bother with prayer.

Of course, their version of prayer was to whine and demand and sob into a void that would never give them anything back. Balthazar, on the other hand, was that void, or a part of it. And now, there was one such human soul demanding his attention, as though he actually expected an answer. What was really surprising, though, was the angel was actually considering giving one.

Cassie was in danger?

Balthazar looked down at the Kentucky Bourbon, half the bottle still left. The human could be lying. Although, honestly, Balthazar imagined this 'Dean Winchester' was the very man he and Cassie had left Heaven to find. How else would a random human know his name, along with his connection to the Angel of Thursday? Balthazar was somewhat proud, actually, to think his friend had gone and done a thing as outlandishly disobedient as make contact with the human. He'd half expected Castiel to immediately head back to Heaven the moment they'd been separated.

His grip on the bottle slipped, the heavy glass bottom clinking loudly against the Italian marble. Luckily, it didn't break, or leave his grip completely. Not a single drop wasted.

Balthazar hadn't thought of his friend in some time. A lifetime, really – this newly human-ish one, at least. And now Castiel could be in danger?

The rogue angel set his bottle of ridiculously expensive liquor down on his equally extravagant bar, catching a glance of himself in the reflection. In and among the shelves of pricey bottles and knick-knacks he'd nicked from some of the world's most famous private collections, his vessel stared back. Blond hair, sharp cheeks, and blue eyes, dark in the dim, ever-changing lights. It wasn't his face, not truly, but Balthazar was rather fond of it all the same.

What help would he be to Castiel? If this wasn't some random human making a mess of things or a trap laid out by an angel who learned of his somewhat exaggerated demise, there was nothing he could do. He couldn't return to Heaven. Even if it was to help Cassie, Balthazar would be arrested on the spot. No, he would be no help at all, really. Worse, he'd likely add to whatever it was Cassie had gotten himself into this time.

There was nothing he could do.

Still Balthazar hesitated, the conclusion coming with a disappointing lack of something, leaving him more uneasy than resolved. The angel shook his head and picked his bottle of expensive caramel colored liquor back up and resumed mixing his fancy drink. Blue eyes focused on the mirror, this time only for his party-goers. He'd lined events up perfectly tonight for a Ménage à…whatever the French word was for twelve, and it had taken a surprising amount of work to do so. He couldn't rightly throw all that hard work away, now could he?

Castiel would have to get by on his own. He'd always managed in the past and Balthazar had little doubt he would this time, too.

-o-o-o-

Dean spent exactly twenty-two minutes muttering under his breath for Balthazar to hurry the hell up (it was friggin' cold out, man), which escalated to groaning, bemoaning, and eventually just cussing the guy out before he realized (begrudgingly accepted) that the angel wasn't coming.

Bag of dicks. Always had been. The asshole.

Whelp. That was it. That was Dean's one shot. He'd said one and done.

Dean gripped the Impala's keys tightly in his hand, looking over his shoulder at his slender, gleaming lady. Time to head back to the motel, maybe even before Sammy noticed he was gone. The hunter sighed, frustrated and pissy, but mostly disappointed and turning towards anger because it was easier than coming to terms with the fact he'd failed. Dean growled low in his throat, harsh fingers scrubbing at his short hair as he opened the driver side door.

The metal hadn't even finished groaning before he was slamming it back shut.

Fuck it.

Dean spun back around, striding several feet away from the car. He wasn't giving up on Cas that easy. Screw Balthazar. If that dickwad was too busy cramming feathers up his ass to show, there were others. Dean knew others, and maybe one of them would care enough to show.

The hunter slammed his eyes shut, screwed up his face (because, damnit, this was an even dumber idea and he said – he'd said – he wouldn't do this), and started to pray one more time.

'Rachel. I know you don't know shit about who I am, but my name's Dean Winchester. I'm the friggin' Righteous Man and Castiel is in danger.'

-o-o-o-

Rachel was training with several of her unit, markedly lacking their leader and second in command (though they were not required for training and so the absence was not particularly noted as anything suspicious) when the prayer came through. The voice itself was not jarring, but the news of her leader – well, second in command now – certainly was, and Rachel pulled up short. Her abrupt and distracted withdrawal from the spar allowed Samandriel to skim his blade along the edges of her grace before he could halt his forward momentum, creating the shallowest of cuts.

"Oh no!" The slighter angel pulled up short, several sets of eyes all equally wide in surprise and no shortage of terror. "I am so sorry, Rachel!"

Rachel lifted her limb, observing the sharp line of brilliant, leaking light without any of the alarm of her companion. Several of the angels sparring on either side of them halted as well, but she waved them on. As third in command of the Flight, with one gesture from her the other angels resumed their mock battles without question. Rachel lowered her arm and turned to the newest member of the Unit.

"It is nothing, Samandriel. You should not apologize for wounding your opponent when that is the ultimate goal of battle in the first place. You should be aiming for it, in fact."

Samandriel straightened to attention, raising his blade in a small salute to her advice. There were no young angels in Heaven as angels had no age; they had all been created by God within the span of a hundred years of one other, at the very age they would always be. They did not grow, they did not change. But Rachel could not help but think of Samandriel, who had only transferred into the unit less than a century ago, as quite young. He was new to combat, at least as his primary purpose, and fell heavily back on his previous duties, which involved maintenance and cataloguing of Heaven's assets.

In short, he was a better negotiator and weapons analyst than he was fighter, and apologized often for it. Which was illogical and pointless. Rachel would train it out of him, yet.

But that was neither here nor there for the moment. Currently, Rachel had Dean Winchester's voice in her head, asking for her help and insisting that Castiel, her commanding officer, was in danger at the hand of one of their own. Rachel disappeared her blade into the Ether, pleased when Samandriel took his commanding officer's lead and did the same.

"Samandriel," Rachel began, hesitating only for a fraction of a second. The slighter angel was known for his attachment to Castiel. Not in a way that the warrior angel was aware of in the least, not outside of that as a leader and teacher, but it was obvious enough to the rest of the Flight. Samandriel held Castiel in high regard, and was like a puppy to his master around the other angel, much to the unit's amusement. "Have you seen Castiel?"

If the other angel thought twice about the oddity of her question in the middle of a sparring session, he said nothing of it. Samandriel thought for a second, his grace swirling yellow with contemplation, but the colors and eddies ultimately settled into a more neutral tan. A no, then.

"Not since yesterday," Samandriel confirmed what his grace had already told her. "In the Archival Hall, I think. He was with Uriel in the morning, but I haven't seen him since."

Rachel felt herself pause, the never-ending movement of her own grace halting for a single second, before resuming its usual patterns of sharp lines and calculated angles as though the hesitation had never happened. Was there something to be seen in Samandriel's response, naming the one angel this human voice claimed was a traitor? A traitor potentially holding Castiel's life in his hands?

She was hardly inclined to believe the word of a human she did not know, particularly over a matter no human should know of or be involved in. However…every angel knew of Castiel's trip to Earth with Balthazar. He had spoken to few about it, but Rachel had been one of the few. She had counseled him in his grief. In their shared grief.

Castiel had spoken of demons, amassed, attacking him and Balthazar in mere minutes of being on Earth. Her brother had been very troubled by this, though he'd refused to go any further into it than that. Rachel had not known the cause behind his silence, but it had occurred to her that their superiors refusing to acknowledge this threat, forbidding him from discussing it with others, could very well be the source of his unease.

If Castiel had been on Earth to speak to a human, if this Dean Winchester was that human, and if he truly was the Righteous Man…

Rachel knew hastily connecting those dots with nothing but the limited information she had could very well lead to an incorrect and dangerous assumption, but it was difficult not to at least see the easily drawn line.

She dismissed Samandriel to resume sparring with another in the unit, to practice his precision. He still wavered in the final moment of each attack, worried he would hurt his compatriots. "Trust your opponent's skill," she insisted as she left him. "They are far more proficient in battle than you, Samandriel. They will block your attack."

As Rachel retreated from the battling unit, trusting in her brothers to continue the drills without her oversight, she spread out her wings and, with it, her awareness. The first thing she did was search for Castiel's signature. If he was in Heaven – and he was surely in Heaven, for the gates were shut and she had seen the pale nature of his grace when he'd returned from Earth, carrying with him no saturation but the guilt of Balthazar's death; he was not soon to return to the planet below without good reason – then she should be able to find him, anywhere.

Which was why she nearly tripped on the shining white, unnaturally smooth stones beneath her incorporeal feet when her senses did not succeed in finding him.

That…wasn't possible. It wasn't. Either he was on Earth or he was- No. She wouldn't think it. The unit had already lost one brother, it could not lose another.

Besides, Rachel had not felt his death. If he had been in Heaven, which Samandriel confirmed he was just yesterday, then every angel in the Host would have felt him perish. He had to be somewhere. But why could she not sense him?

Rachel hesitated again, stepping off the well-walked and yet never worn path from the training grounds to the upper Halls, so others could pass. She, herself, had no direction. She did not know where to go with this…revelation.

Well, there was one person – one man – who did seem to know something about it. Rachel drew herself up, grace hardening with resolve. If their positions were reversed, Castiel would do whatever was needed to ensure her safety. As her brother, her leader, her friend – regardless of how rarely used that word may be among angels – it was her responsibility to him to do the same.

She would locate one of the holes in Heaven's defenses – the ones Castiel spoke of to her in confidence in the quiet of the barracks the night he'd come back – and find this Dean Winchester.

-o-o-o-

He'd been reduced to scuffing the toes of his boots along the rough cement, kicking pebbles and the one beer cap he'd found across the uneven pavement. Dean was all of about three seconds from pulling out his phone and playing Tetris (he'd give himself five games before calling it quits and going the hell home like he should have eighteen minutes ago) when a woman suddenly appeared about four and a half feet in front of him. Close enough for the hunter to stumble three feet back on autopilot, hand settling on the hilt of the knife hooked to his belt.

"Dean Winchester."

Holy shit. He hadn't actually expected her to show.

He had to assume it was Rachel. It looked like the same vessel as the last time he'd met her, but to be honest, Dean wasn't sure he'd be able to point that woman out in a lineup if asked. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd met Rachel in person, and he wasn't a hundred percent that number was more than one. She'd stuck around in his memory though. Possibly because he could also count on one hand the number of Cas's family who hadn't tried to kill his best friend or him. Even this asshole militaristic one who'd told him and Sam to back off and leave Cas alone ended up staying in his mind. At least, enough so that she'd been the second person he thought to call.

Okay, so actually that wasn't true. Hannah had been the next angel Dean thought to summon. He'd certainly met and interacted with her more times than he had Rachel. But between the two angels who had both served as Castiel's second-in-command at one point or another, Rachel hadn't handed Castiel an angel blade and demanded he kill Dean as proof of his loyalty to their cause.

So Rachel it was!

But still. He hadn't really, actually expected her to show up.

So…what was Step Two?

"Rachel?" The hunter started out cautious, hand still on his knife, though little good it would do him if it proved he actually needed it. They really needed a solution to the only-an-angel-can-kill-another-angel problem. Like, yesterday. The hunter also found himself wishing there was a way to identify angels beyond their vessel or their word. Gadreel had taught him that lesson in the worst way, and he'd never really recovered from that particular brand of distrust. At the time, though, angels had been knocked down a peg on the ladder of 'badass and dangerous as hell'. Plus, they'd had angel blades literally falling out of the sky, so there was no shortage of weapons to kill the bastards.

"Indeed," the woman he was pretty sure was probably Rachel confirmed. She certainly regarded him with the militaristic rigidity he remembered from this particular angel. "You prayed to me?"

Dean straightened, composing himself with as much staunch strength as he could muster in a single stance. His hand stayed on the hilt of his knife. "Did you find Castiel?"

Rachel's face didn't move. She didn't even blink. Dean vaguely remembered her as the extra stoic type, even for an angel. Still, it would go a long way in that whole confidence-trust-building-thing if she'd at least let something come through.

"No. I could not locate him in Heaven. It is…troubling."

Dean almost snorted, but managed to bite it back at the last minute. Just barely.

"You are sure he is not on Earth?"

The hunter shook his head, finally taking his hand off his blade. "He said he was going back up to Heaven, and he left in a hurry. He was banged up pretty bad, said Uriel would heal him."

Rachel frowned at that. Samandriel had not mentioned any injury. In addition, if Castiel was injured enough to need another angel's assistance, he would not have been upright or even conscious for Samadriel to see. This was all ignoring how worrisome it was that Castiel had not sought a Healer, but rather one of his warriors.

"When was this?"

Samandriel had said yesterday morning. Perhaps Rachel could pinpoint the last time Castiel was on Earth and begin filling in the blanks.

"A week and a half ago. Last, uh, Tuesday. Nine days ago." It took Dean a moment to backtrack in numbers. God, it felt like so much longer than a week and a half. A month, maybe, since Rivergrove, if you'd have asked him. Weeks, at least, since Cas dropped mother effin' Uriel's name of all people and then went missing-in-action on them.

God, they needed a break. They needed a win, and then they needed a vacation. Aruba maybe. Dean had always wanted to go to Aruba.

Rachel calculated the difference. Earth moved much faster than Heaven, in varying ways at varying times, but the angel was accustomed to the difference and comfortable estimating the average. It was more than possible that Samadriel had seen Castiel yesterday morning in the Archival building, assuming the Power had then removed himself to Earth very shortly afterward.

"How long was he on Earth? Or with you?"

Dean felt like he was being questioned by the high school principle who'd just found a bag of questionable substance on him. He managed to hold back the snark before it came out with his answer, but it wasn't easy. "An hour, at most?"

He should have made Cas stay. He should have made him- her- (him?) stay, heal up with them. Warn her- him about Uriel. Regroup and figure out a plan. Dean should have made Cas stay.

"And you believe he is with Uriel now?" Rachel was no longer looking at the human, head tilted in thought, eyes distant on the uneven asphalt. The large angel and current commander of their Flight hadn't been present at their usual sparring today, but it was not uncommon for both him and Castiel to have other duties to attend. Such was the burden of leadership, as Rachel understood it.

"She- he said that's who he was going to. Look, I get it, alright, you don't want to trust some lowly human, but Uriel is bad news-"

"I believe you."

Dean blinked at Rachel's firm, no-nonsense interruption. She…what?

"I have never cared much for this particular brother," Rachel continued, dipping her head slightly as she spoke. "Uriel's attentiveness to the Flight is negligible at best, his overly-familiar regard for Castiel has always discomforted me, and, lately, there have been rumors of his association with the angel Malachi."

The double take the hunter did would have been damn near comical in any other situation. "The anarchist?"

Oh, Dean remembered Castiel telling him about that piece of work. He'd been newly graced up and avoiding details on both where that grace had come from and why he flinched anytime Dean or Sam touched him. Dean had been around torture enough to know what it looked like on a survivor. He'd spent ten years in Hell carving that reaction right out of those 'survivors'. Needless to say, Dean had drawn his own conclusions, complete with suspicions on just how a very human Castiel came by his information on the faction of angels opposing Bartholomew. A faction apparently led by Malachi.

Who had been, in all of that, a friggin' anarchist angel. Like that made any sense in their already messed up, crazy lives.

Rachel seemed surprised he knew the name, or any details on the angel at all. Her expression almost resembled something expressive. There was an ever-so-minuscule shift in her shoulders, and Dean realized she'd relaxed, probably as much as an angel like her ever did. It was entirely possible that until that moment, despite her words, she hadn't actually believed him at all.

"Oh, that's just great," Dean continued, ignoring the 'moment' between them since the angel probably hadn't even realized there was one. Instead, he focused on just how screwed Cas was if two brute assholes like Uriel and Malachi had teamed up in this timeline. God damn it, could Time not let them have a single win? "So Uriel's working with Malachi, and Castiel flew right to them."

Rachel shifted slightly, rolling her shoulders, and Dean hazarded that she was uncomfortable. Or worried. He wasn't great at reading angels other than Cas. Well, and Balthazar, but that asshat hadn't ever made what he was thinking much of a secret to start with.

"If you are certain that Castiel is not on Earth, then Uriel is somehow disguising the signature of his grace."

In turn, the hunter regarded Rachel with something she identified as concern. Or panic. Perhaps a mixture of the two? She was not very skilled at reading humans.

"Is that…bad?"

"It is not damaging to an angel. Merely inconvenient and highly suspect." This time Dean did snort. Rachel narrowed her eyes at the sound, but didn't waste the time it would take to question it. "Unfortunately, it will make locating him difficult. Stay here. I will return to Heaven and do what I can to find him."

Dean was shaking his head before she was even finished. "I'm coming with you."

Rachel blinked. It was an odd sensation – she had forgotten how much humans feel of their surroundings, at least physically – and she did it again more out of reflex than need. "That…is a terrible idea."

"Don't care," Dean insisted, even as inner Dean screamed that it was, in fact, a terrible idea ('listen to the smart angel lady, you told your brother you'd come right back!') Little did that voice know, Dean wasn't one to listen to it (that voice actually knew that quite well) and he'd already made up his mind. The hunter rubbed at his chest, at a phantom ache deep in the hole that felt nothing. Dean wished that feeling was more than just wishful thinking. "I'm going with you."

"No, you are not." Rachel shook her head and crossed her arms, weight shifting to one hip in clear protest. She might as well have been physically putting her foot down. "Heaven is no place for a living, breathing human. You will be a beacon of attention on a mission that can only succeed if we remain undetected."

"Don't care," Dean repeated through gritted teeth, even though he knew she had a more-than-fair argument. The hunter knew, at this point, he was just being stubborn because he was angry and scared, and he hated being both those things. Even more so when they added up to Dean being nothing but helplessness. He was going with her, and he was going to bring his best damn friend home.

Dean's phone started to buzz in his pocket and the older Winchester knew instinctively that it was Sammy. His brother was awake and calling to rip him a new one for leaving without letting him know. For sort of breaking that promise he'd made. The timing of his call couldn't be more perfect, of course. As if Sam knew his older brother was about to do something stupid – well, even stupider, now – and had every intention of talking (yelling) him out of it.

"You should care," Rachel scolded him immediately, words clipped and biting at the heels of his own. "If Castiel is in as much danger as you seem to think, than anything we do to alert Uriel or Malachi could end in his death."

The hunter sucked in a sharp breath, his resolve and stubbornness immediately wilting at those words. Crap. He couldn't even deny that she was right. More than right, damnit. He clenched his teeth, upper lip trying repeatedly to curl into a snarl that the hunter fought against. The angel didn't need to think he was any more of a rabid mess than he was already stubbornly acting like. Dean turned his head away to hide his lack of control, fists curling at his side.

Damnit, damnit, damnit.

"Fine," he spat out, still grinding his jaw. The phone in his pocket stopped buzzing, but it pinged one single vibration a minute later. A voicemail. Definitely Sam, then. No one else but Cas left him voicemails, and she- he- she (damnit, this was confusing as hell and getting ridiculous) hadn't even figured out cell phones. At least, not yet.

(Not ever, if they didn't manage to get to her before Uriel.)

Dean clenched his fists tighter, trying not to think about it. "Fine, you're right. Just…go get her back, alright? Him. Whatever."

Rachel eyed the volatile human. She suddenly had the distinct impression that leaving Dean Winchester behind would, in no way, be this easy. Which made little sense to her, so the certainty of that feeling was all the more perplexing. In fact, the angel found herself resisting the urge to tell the human to 'stay.' Not that he would heed such an order, she was also certain. So Rachel dismissed both the urge and the odd impressions she was getting off the confusing man. Instead, the angel uncrossed her arms and spread her wings, preparing to jump into the Ether.

Still, she found herself hesitating.

"Remain here," she reminded him, keeping the command as much of a suggestion as possible. Rachel supposed, in some ways, that was very similar to telling him to stay. Perhaps she had caved to the strange need anyway. "I will return shortly with Castiel."

Then she left, still with the very uneasy sensation she would regret something about this encounter.

Dean waited until she disappeared – in the blink of an eye and with a flap of wings – to snort again. Yeah, right. Despite the ability to literally transport anywhere in the world – and beyond – in under a second, angels never did seem fast enough in returning. Besides, he knew his best friend. Nothing Cas ever did went down easy. He was a Winchester, after all. Dean was going to be lucky if Rachel came back at all with his wayward angel, let alone in a timely manner.

The hunter sighed, hanging his head for a moment. God, he needed to be doing something! Anything rather than waiting. As his phone buzzed in his pocket again, a single short vibration reminding him of the missed call, Dean dug the device out. Well, might as well listen to Sammy chewing him out, then call the sasquatch to let him know he was still in one piece.

Dean raised the phone to his ear, the robotic voice telling him he had one new message. The hunter hit the '1' button without even looking at the keypad, prepared for a seriously pissed-off younger brother.

"Hey, Dean." That was, indeed, his little brother's voice, but Sam sounded way less angry than he'd been expecting. Hell, the kid barely even sounded pissy. Had he somehow not noticed Dean was gone? Yeah, right, then why would he be calling the older Winchester's phone in the middle of the night? "There's a woman here, at the motel."

Dean's head turned sharply to the side, a frown immediately taking over his features. A woman? Could it be Ruby? Or Azazel's girl? His fingers unconsciously tightened around the plastic casing of the phone.

"I think she's one of us. One of Azazel's kids," his brother continued, voice dropping lower and Dean realized that Sam hadn't just meant at the motel. Whoever this newcomer was, she was in the room with the younger Winchester. Dean's stomach knotted. His grip on the phone tightened even further, his other hand sliding into his coat pocket to wrap around the Impala's keys. Screw waiting around for Rachel; the angel could find him once he made sure Sammy was safe.

"She says she found me through a vision, Dean."

Something in the older hunter's gut shifted. It didn't loosen so much as change position; Dean's Timey Senses flared in response, but the man from the future didn't know why. Not yet. Sam's next words got him his answer, though.

"Does the name Ava Wilson mean anything to you?"

-o-o-o-

Hidden by the night and his higher ground, the stealth hunter drew in another measured breath, as silent and slow as the one he'd just released. The rifle moved with the expansion of his chest, with the slow shift of his collarbone and shoulder, but like any hunter worth his salt, his aim stayed true. He was too good for it not to. Once his lungs were comfortably full, he held that breath, one eye shut and the other focused through the scope. He adjusted his aim by a hair's width, the center of his crosshairs shifting from phone to skull.

Gordon Walker released the air from his lungs and squeezed the trigger.

The sound of the .223 caliber subsonic bullet leaving his Heckler and Koch SL8 sniper rifle was nothing more than a pop in the air. A shame, really. The crack of thunder that came from an unsuppressed rifle was one of the world's damned finest sounds, in Gordon's opinion. The bullet flew true; the time between leaving the barrel and impacting its target was a fraction of a second. His prey hit the blood-spattered pavement with a lifeless thud before Gordon was even done lamenting the silence of the kill.

The phone, sprayed with its owner's blood and likely more, clattered to the ground beside the body, screen lit with a call still in progress. The tinny, mechanical voice of a woman requesting the deletion, saving, or replay of a voicemail was the only sound in the dark, empty gas station.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/Ns: [insert even dirtier, even more rotten, even more no good grin here] Did I make you all think Gordon was going after Sam? Aw, shucks. Guess I am just that evil ;D

(…okay, but I *did* warn you this was gonna get ugly, right?!)

So who has two thumbs and just killed our main character? This author right here! I feel like I can officially be inducted into the hall of Supernatural Writers now. Can't join until you kill one of the boys all proper like XD

Original Timeline Reference – Rachel: I didn't want to put this at the top because it would spoil the chapter, but for anyone who doesn't remember Rachel, she was Cas's second in command in season 6. She showed up to the boys just once, warning them to leave Castiel alone as he was busy fighting a war and didn't have time for them. She warned Cas a couple times about splitting his priorities, but seemed to genuinely care about him, and he seemed grateful for that. Ultimately, she discovered his plan to open Purgatory and told him to stop it or she would. Cas killed her to keep his secret.

Up Next: Who's got two thumbs, is dead, and gonna go save Cas all on his own cuz he's gonna end up right where he wanted to be all along before he even knew he wanted to be there? That's right. This idiot Winchester right there! [points awkwardly at Dean with two thumbs]

ANOTHER MILESTONE APPROACHING: Alrighty guys, we are within spitting distance of 2000 reviews on ff dot net, but it is a decent distance yet. Under normal circumstances, I absolutely believe we could those eighty reviews. HOWEVER, I do try to be a nice author when I can (when plot, emotional devastation, angst, and whumpage are not factors XD), so here's your heads up: Next chapter (58) is NOT a cliffhanger, but 59 will be (just a medium one, nothing like last or this chapter ;) So, if you don't want to cash in your chips now, you could space the reviews out over this chapter and next to try and hit that 2,000 milestone during 58 so you get 59 and 60 back-to-back :D

This has been the rare appearance of your perfectly decent, nice and friendly author. That fulfills this year's quota, she'll be back in something like six months XD

Good luck and I hope you enjoyed these back-to-back chapters!